The ring of five dragons, p.24
The Ring of Five Dragons, page 24
part #1 of The Pearl Series
She blinked.
Panic flooded her again, squirting through her veins like fire. What am I doing? she wondered. I can’t read this form of Kundalan. But somehow the strange, incomprehensible runes had the power to calm her wildly beating heart.
She stared at the incomprehensible pages, thinking of Giyan. Her lips moved, as if in prayer. But they could not have been a V’ornn prayer because Annon did not know the decaying prayers of Enlil.
All at once, Riane gasped. The runes were resolving themselves into letters, letters into words, words into phrases:
“UTMOST SOURCE,” she read in wonder. “THE FIVE SACRED BOOKS OF MÜNA.”
Suddenly breathless, she turned the page.
“BOOK ONE; SPIRIT GATE
Inside us are Fifteen Spirit Gates. They are meant to be open. If even one is not, a blockage occurs. …”
And the thought came to her unbidden: A blockage has occurred.
Riane had gradually come to hate her female body less. The mysteries of her femaleness—sexual attraction, how this new body functioned, the sudden shifts of her raging hormones—still baffled her, but now that the body had fully recovered from the siege of duur fever she found cause to appreciate even more its stamina and strength. She had taken to rising an hour earlier than the other Ramahan so she could work her body so strenuously her arms and legs trembled and sweat poured off her in salty rivulets. She began to study her new self in the mirror, concentrating on observing how her shape was changing, her shoulders widening, her arm muscles becoming more defined, her legs even more powerful, and that pleased her insofar as she was able at the moment to feel pleasure.
One morning, promptly at the fourth hour, which was her appointed time. Riane presented herself in the doorway to Shima Laudenum’s classroom.
The day had begun. The rich, amber sunlight of High Summer filtered through the arabesques of the wooden shutters, most of which were open. This gave the chamber an air of mystery, the ribbons, curlicues, and serifs of light seeming to create their own runic language, far more ancient than either Kundalan or V’ornn.
“Good morning, Riane,” said Leyna Astar’s soft, melodious voice. “It is safe for you to come in.”
“Where is Shima Laudenum?” Riane asked.
Leyna Astar smiled. “She has offended Konara Bartta once too often. She has been reassigned.”
Riane’s heart leapt. “Does that mean you will be teaching me now?”
Leyna Astar’s laugh was infectious. “It is good to see you in a lighter mood,” Leyna Astar said as she led the girl to a low table by the wooden shutters. Arabesques of light seemed to float across the shiny lacquer surface as if in a dream. They sat cross-legged, across from each other on thin cushions. “Konara Bartta has assigned me to your formal instruction.”
Riane cocked her head. “But you are a novice.”
“I should have been made shima three years ago, but…” Astar leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “I will tell you a secret: I am a bit of a rebel.”
“So am I,” Riane blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“It’s a deal,” Riane said, relaxing a bit.
“So.” Leyna Astar put her hands together. “What has Konara Laudenum been teaching you?”
Riane told her about Kyofu, the Cube of Tutelage, and the three concentric black rings.
“First, let me explain the essentials of the Ramahan sorcery, something I am certain Konara Laudenum failed to tell you,” Leyna Astar said. “There are two schools of sorcery—Osoru or Five Moons, and Kyofu or Black Dreaming. Only those born with the Gift can learn Osoru. Once, the two were a whole, but at some point those who had mastered both disciplines found that while the principles of both could coexist in one mind, the philosophies could not. Perhaps because it can be learned by anyone with intelligence and determination, Kyofu was prone to corruption. It seemed to weaken White Bone Gate, the place inside ourselves most susceptible to the influence of evil. So, at some point, the two disciplines were separated, and each had its own faction within the Ramahan. Gradually, the Kyofu faction won out. Nowadays, primarily because of Konara Bartta’s incessant lobbying, Osoru is no longer taught at the abbey. Doubtless because Konara Bartta was born without the Gift, those with it are shunned. As a consequence, only Kyofu is taught, but not as a regular part of the curriculum.”
Leyna Astar looked deep into Riane’s eyes. “Despite what Konara Laudenum might have led you to believe, few leyna are chosen for Kyofu training. Konara Bartta is far too covetous of her power. And as for acolytes, well, you are the first, Riane.”
“What is so special about me?”
“For one thing you were able to return Kyofu’s sorcerous black fire to its natural state.” Leyna Astar reached out, plucked out of the air above Riane’s head the three black rings. “For another…” She stacked them in the air. “You see, you did not absorb them. No one I know can resist the Rings of Concordance, but you did, Riane.” She made a circular motion, and the rings dissolved with a small pop!
“I do not see how,” Riane said. “I did nothing consciously.”
“Let’s find out.” Leyna Astar put her delicate hands upon the table, the arabesques of light giving them an otherworldly dimension. “Shall we begin?”
“I did not bring my tablet or stylus,” Riane said. Kundalan did not use data-storage devices as the V’ornn did.
“You do not require them,” Astar said. “You need only your mind.” Her hands rested on the tabletop, palms up. “As you know we have five seasons. Can you tell me which one the Ramahan honor above all others?”
Into Riane’s head popped a legend of the queen of the gimnopedes. Where had it come from? It was not one Giyan had told Annon.
“Lonon, the Fifth Season, is when the gimnopedes swarm,” she said. “They mate during Lonon and give birth before Low Winter arrives, when they head south across the Sea of Blood to alight Müna knows where. Lonon is their time. It is Müna’s time, as well.”
“Excellent, Riane. Müna is the Goddess of, among other things, the harvest. The harvest time has many meanings for us here at the abbey. As it is for all Kundalan, it is a time of gathering food for the long winter, but for us it is also a time for cleansing our spirits. In the same manner in which the leaves fall in Lonon, clogging the gutters of houses and the storm drains in the streets, so too do our spirits become clogged during the long year. And so, in Lonon we hold special ceremonies to empty ourselves of the unneeded and unwanted, to scrub our insides clean of whatever impure or improper thoughts have accumulated. For us, then, Lonon is a sacred time, the Goddess’s time, when spirituality reigns supreme.”
The expressive hands wove gestures. “It is also the time of the Spirit House. Müna speaks of this aspect of Lonon in the fragments of Utmost Source that have survived. The Spirit House, where our ancestors temporarily reside, exists alongside our world.” She curled both hands into fists, moved them in circles over the light-flecked tabletop. “These two worlds have their own orbits.” She demonstrated with her fists. “In Low Winter they are the farthest from each other, during Lonon they actually touch. Then it is possible to call upon the Spirit House for strength and support.”
She stood up, pointed to three places on her body—two above each breast, one at her lower belly. “Here are the places where we need to be restored—the spirit storehouses. We learn to gain our strength from the collected wisdom of the Spirit House.”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Of course, Riane.” Leyna Astar sat back down. “Here, with me, you have permission to ask anything.”
“You said that the Spirit House is where our ancestors live, but you also said they stay there temporarily. Where do the spirits go when they leave the Spirit House?”
A warm smile spread across Leyna Astar’s face. From inside her robes she took out a small beautifully embroidered velvet bag. She opened it, searching inside. “To answer your insightful question, the Spirit House is not a place—like Kundala is a place, a planet spinning in orbit around a sun. Think of it as a kind of way station, a nexus point that holds the insubstantial from wandering off into uncharted reaches. From this way station spirits wait for their time to return to the mortal sphere to be born again, to continue their own personal quest for enlightenment, the truth about themselves.”
“Like luewondren,” Riane said too quickly and, she worried, unwisely.
“I have heard of that alien word. It is the Gyrgon concept of reincarnation. Perhaps there are some theoretical .similarities, but there is no proof that, for the V’ornn at least, reincarnation actually exists.”
Riane wondered again how a novice came by such knowledge. An-non had believed, as all V’ornn did, in luewondren.
Leyna Astar’s smile returned. “Now give me your hands.” She placed Riane’s hands palms up on the tabletop. “You must promise to keep still and try to relax. There will be no pain involved.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry. We are merely going to replenish your spirit storehouse.”
“But how? It is still High Summer. Lonon is,weeks away.”
“Yes, I know. But when the need is great enough, there are alternative paths. This is an important lesson to learn, Riane. No matter how things may appear, there are always alternative paths. You simply have to find them.”
“But how? I wouldn’t know—“
“Just relax now.” Astar had taken a slender enameled case out of her bag. The case was covered with incised runes. From it, she slid out a pair of needles. They were odd, giving off no glitter where the arabesques of sunlight struck them. Rather, the light seemed to move through them as if they only faintly existed. Smiling still, Astar held one needle by an end. “I am going to pass this through the center of your palm.”
Riane snatched her hands away.
“I told you it would not hurt. Do you think I am lying?”
Riane said nothing.
“All right. This cannot be done against your will.” Astar began to put the needles away.
“Waitr Riane swallowed. “What… What will happen to me when you put the needle in?”
“I do not know. It is different for each of us,” Astar said. “What I can say for a certainty is that you will be filled with a feeling of well-being.”
Slowly, without taking her eyes from the novice’s, Riane returned her hands to the tabletop.
Astar waited a moment, perhaps to be certain that the girl had made up her mind. Then she took one needle by its end and, placing it perpendicular to the tabletop, inserted it into the exact center of Riane’s left palm. Riane felt a momentary flicker, something akin to a buzz of electricity, then nothing save a slow pulsing of warmth in her lower belly. Shima Astar had not lied, there was no pain. The novice repeated the procedure with the second needle, inserting it into Riane’s right palm. The momentary flicker was different, heavier, deeper, ricocheting inside her, making her fingers spasm.
The pulsing took shape, passing from one hand to another as if across an invisible wire. From there it moved to her lower belly, up to her chest and back down again, as if completing an energy loop.
“I feel like I’m hooked up to some kind of machine,” Riane said.
“An excellent analogy.” Astar seemed impressed again. “The machine, Riane, is your own body. The needles—the qi as the konara call them—have opened up the chord of your inner energy; they have become the Channel through which your spirit storehouse is being replenished.” She waited a moment. “One is forbidden to know this, but it is said that in the old days Mother was able to replenish her spirit storehouse at will without the aid of the qi.”
“I know very little about Mother.”
“Ah, Mother.” Astar closed her eyes for a moment. “In the time before the V’ornn, when The Pearl lay safely in the Storehouse below Middle Palace, the Ramahan were led, not by the Dea Cretan, but by a hereditary leader whose spirituality was all-encompassing.”
“She was murdered on the day w—On the day the V’ornn invaded Kundala, wasn’t she?”
“It is said that she was murdered by the Rappa while a cabal of male priests staged a coup. In those days, here as in every aspect of Kundalan life, female and male had shared roles. That ended when certain male priests took The Pearl out of the Storehouse and misused it. Because they tried to use The Pearl for their own ends, it told them only what they wanted to hear.”
“It lied to them?”
“Yes, Riane, The Pearl lied to them, as it was meant to do. Only the pure in heart and spirit may gaze into The Pearl and see the Truth.” Astar turned each qi a quarter turn to the right. The effect was like stirring a pot of bubbling stew: new sensations came to the surface. “In Her wrath,” she went on, “the Great Goddess cast down the Kundalan, ensured that they would be enslaved by the V’ornn until the time of Ambat, when the Dar Sala-at is born.”
“Who is the Dar Sala-at?”
“The Dar Sala-at is the One who is pure in spirit and heart—the One who will find The Pearl, who will use it as it was meant to be used, who will free the Kundalan from the yoke of V’omn enslavement. It is also Prophesied that the Dar Sala-at will be the one to reclaim both schools of sorcery, heal what was mistakenly rent asunder, and bind them into the whole that was originally meant to be.”
Riane, who was feeling better than she had ever felt before, thought about this for a long time. She saw that Astar’s eyes were upon her with a grave intensity.
“I want you to do something for me, Riane.”
She waited, barely breathing. An ethereal glow filled her with warmth and light.
“I am going to ask you a question,” Astar went on. “Just one. And when I ask it of you I want you to answer quick as you can, without thinking about it.”
“Is this some kind of a test?”
Leyna Astar gave her a shrewd look. “Yes,” she said. “One that has never been administered before.”
“Why?”
“The test is called the Ya-unn—the Meeting of Ways.”
“Is it important?”
“Most important.”
“But I am unprepared.”
“In that you are mistaken.” Leyna Astar twirled the qi a quarter turn to the left. “You already passed one test: you reverted the black fire.” Leyna Astar made a final adjustment to the qi. “Tell me the first word that comes to your mind at this precise moment.”
“Djenn.”
Astar sat absolutely still. Her beautiful lips were slightly parted; her cheeks were blushed with pink. “Yes,” she whispered, and smiled. “You see, Riane, you did not fail.”
“I didn’t?”
“You have proved what has already been suspected. You are special. Very special. We believe that is why Konara Bartta took you to be trained in Kyofu. For a certainty, it is why you were able to resist the Rings.”
“We? Is there someone else involved?”
“There is, but—it is a secret.” Leyna Astar lowered her voice. “I do not have to tell you that evil lurks around, do I?”
“No, but this is a bit confusing,” Riane said thoughtfully. “Konara Laudanum claimed no evil was allowed inside the abbey.”
“That was true enough, in the old days. But since The Pearl was lost, since Mother was deposed, since the Ramahan have lost their way many things have changed. For over a century, Müna has turned Her face away from us.” Leyna Astar’s eyes were shining. “Now you have come; the hand of the Great Goddess has reappeared.”
Riane shook her head. “I do not understand.”
“It is too dangerous now for you to know more,” Leyna Astar said. “But, believe me when I tell you that at the proper time you will understand everything.” She cocked her head. “Curious. You haven’t asked the meaning of Djenn.”
“But I already know,” Riane said. “In the Old Tongue it means Dragon.”
This seemed to give Leyna Astar pause. “How did you know that, Riane? You have only just begun to study the Old Tongue.”
“I don’t know,” Riane said truthfully. She was about to tell Leyna Astar how she had opened Utmost Source one night and just like that had begun to read it, but she remembered Giyan’s warning to tell no one of it. “I… I just do, that’s all.” She thought a moment. “I wondered whether it could have been from the Rings of Concordance.”
“As I said, you are immune to the Rings’ effects. In any event, they cannot impart that kind of knowledge wholesale.”
“Another thing puzzles me. When you spoke of these qi, you said that the konara named them. The konara use them, then?”
“Only konara may use the qi.”
“But you are a novice.”
“Just so.” Astar hummed a little as she removed the qi from Riane’s palms, wiping them down with alcohol, replacing them in their runic case. “That is quite a conundrum, isn’t it?”
Damage
In the privacy of his residence in Axis Tyr, Pack-Commander Rekkk Hacilar put his head in his hands and wept for his friend and his regent, Eleusis Ashera. Eleusis had been more—mentor and father figure. He had helped Rekkk escape the stigma his own father had left.
Rekkk’s father had been one of the most notorious Rhynnnon in recent memory. Rhynnnon were rogue Khagggun, who rebelled against their command and their caste. Rekkk’s father, like other Rhynnnon before him, had died in a bloody battle where the odds were overwhelmingly against him. Rhynnnon held a unique place in Khagggun lore because they were both despised and admired. Khagggun simply did not renounce their command. On the rare occasions when they did, they lived a life apart from the V’ornn Modality. They might make their living hiring themselves out to individuals with difficult and dangerous grudges to settle. But just as likely, they had an agenda of their own that involved a simple but compelling moral imperative—an injustice, some might say, that required action on their part that could not be taken as a Khagggun. That is what made for the dichotomy in how they were viewed by their former compatriots. In Rekkk’s father’s case, he had rebelled against the excessively cruel tyranny of the Star-Admiral whom Kinnnus Morcha had replaced. In fact, he had fulfilled his avowed purpose for becoming Rhynnnon; he had slain the Star-Admiral before being killed on the field of battle.
